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Thursday, 23 November 2017

A few days ago I noticed an Indiegogo
fundraising campaign for a film about Borley Rectory. I was surprised because we have just had one
by Ashley Thorpe called Borley Rectory,
released by his Carrion Films (yes, very good) in June this year. I haven’t seen it yet but I know it is
receiving very positive publicity, and considerable acclamation at festivals.
Thorpe also sought finance via Indiegogo and managed to raise 330% of his
original requirement.

The
Haunting of Borley Rectory on the other hand is being produced by Steven M
Smith, an Essex lad who seems best known for cheaply-made films, mostly
horror. According to his Internet Movie
Database (IMDB) page, “He grew up in Wickford, Essex attending Beauchamps
Comprehensive school where is (sic) wrote, produced and directed his first film
a media project entitled "Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide". It was a
cheap-looking horror flick and never (sic) been released. His first film debut
(sic) was "Time Of Her Life" and was shown at the Cannes film
festival in 2005. He is currently working on several new projects and his wife
is expecting their first child. He still lives in Wickford, Essex today.” This is not inspiring confidence.

Smith’s Indiegogo fundraising goal is a
very modest $5,000, which at the time of writing had reached less than a tenth
of the required total. Amusingly, the
headings for the explanation of the film’s aims are done in a style reminiscent
of the wall writings at Borley.
Presumably he is unaware Thorpe has beaten him to the punch because the
page claims:

“This infamous and chilling location in
Essex, has fascinated me since childhood. I want to be the first to bring this
story of mystery, intrigue and seduction to life on screen in my own unique
storyline that will cross timelines … Located in a remote part of Victorian
England and isolated from any nearby community [actually Borley is about a mile
from Long Melford and less than four miles from Sudbury], Borley Rectory was a
Gothic-style mansion with a long history of death, murder and the
supernatural. Though famed as the most
haunted house in England, this is a tale that – incredibly – has never before
been told on film in its true account.”

Too late to be first I’m afraid, though
perhaps Smith considers Thorpe’s effort to be untruthful compared to his own
attempts to achieve stringent accuracy as he sees it, even if that involves
crossing timelines. Perhaps he was
writing before Thorpe’s effort appeared and just hasn’t got round to updating
his pitch. Despite the impression given
on the Indiegogo page, this is not a new project. Smith posted a call for unpaid actors on
Stage 32 (a website for those working in film, television and theatre) job
board in 2012, though at that point the title was a simple Borley.

Smith runs Greenway Entertainment,
registered in Wickford, but the Borley film, while listed on the Greenway
website among dire-sounding horror titles, is being made by Divinity Pictures,

“created to produce unique and powerful
stories that have never been told before. The story of Borley is well known by
many, and we are committed to telling it as accurately and truthfully as
possible, but with a approach (sic) that is budget restrictive” (a euphemism
for ultra-cheap).

I don’t think Divinity Pictures has any
footprint apart from this reference, and strongly suspect this is not going to
be a film on the scale of Thorpe’s labour of love. The Indiegogo page claims that 80% of the
required funding has already been achieved (and further that distribution deals
are already in place), despite the small sum so far pledged; the appeal is more
to “to support the film and give opportunities for fans to get involved”, a kind
gesture by the filmmakers. Naturally
there are a number of perks on offer depending on the size of the donation,
none of which at the time of writing had been taken up. The list of items requiring extra funding makes
startling reading:

Locations.

Costumes.

Consumables.

Extra Lighting.

Props.

Stills Photographer.

Gore Effects.

Creature Design.

Creature Make Up.

Location Catering.

Contingency Cashflow.

Marketing.

Gore?
Creature design and make-up? Some
of these items are so basic you wonder what the film will look like if the
Indiegogo fundraising fails. Contingency
cashflow for example doesn’t sound like an optional extra. There may not yet be much money for locations
and costumes, but in true Roger Corman style there is a basic poster.

What makes Smith’s film particularly
interesting is that, in true exploitation movie fashion, he has taken advantage
of two hooks, each attractive to punters but which together he might expect to
achieve synergy and thereby do even better box office: Borley and Ed and
Lorraine Warren. Here is what the
Indiegogo page says:

“The Haunting Of Borley Rectory is one
of the best known Ghost (random cap in original) stories of the United Kingdom.
Ed and Lorraine Warren (The Conjuring) visited Borley on many occasions
fascinated by the story. Our film will be a fresh and original take on the
ghost story.”

The Warrens? Ye gods.
The page includes part of an interview with the Warrens about Borley,
which they claimed to have visited over two dozen times. It’s a curious interview, with Lorraine doing
most of the talking but not really saying much of substance. She refers to the church but not the rectory,
so it is unclear how the Warrens will fit into a film which according to the
title involves the rectory (by crossing timelines perhaps).

Despite the lack of enthusiasm by
potential backers it’s full steam ahead on pre-production. The Indiegogo page claims “We are currently
in talks with an array of exciting, A-list talent to bring this story to
life.” So far the page lists Smith as
writer/producer/director (the film’s Facebook page currently shows Anthony
Hickox as director, but then it has a release date of 2016, so presumably is
out of date); Jon-Paul Gates as actor/producer; Elizabeth Saint (in real life a
paranormal investigator among other things) as actor; and Hans Hernke as
actor/executive producer. The film’s IMDB
page has a busy Mark Behar as co-writer/contributing producer/actor/production
manager/second unit director (they have a second unit?) and ‘deadly weapons
props handler’; Smith himself as actor, and Matthew Fitzthomas Rogers as Lionel
Foyster (looking at his photo it is hard to tell them apart). The IMDB page has
a different poster: a bloody hand sticking out of the ground in front of a burning
Borley Rectory, and a note that filming begins in September, presumably 2017 as
the page was last updated in May this year.

I can’t see any exciting A-list talent
among that lot but I expect those so far involved will be supplemented by the
A-listers when they have been signed up.
Intriguingly, a brochure published for the 2014 Cannes film festival by
UK Film lists Smith’s Borley project with Julian Sands and Dan McSherry in the
cast. Presumably Sands, who if not an A-lister
is at least someone you’ve heard of, jumped ship when Thorpe’s Borley film came
along as he is not now associated with Smith’s version, having acted in Thorpe’s. McSherry (a University of Cambridge graduate
I see) seems to have left as well, and the film is not listed in his IMDB
filmography, though he is credited as associate producer on Smith’s Haunted 2: Apparitions, scheduled for
release next year.

As far as The Haunting of Borley Rectory is concerned, according to the
Indiegogo page there will be filming next year, with a release date of November
2018. I’ll be keeping an eye on developments,
and hoping it is better than it sounds.
I’ll certainly be giving the opportunity to invest a miss. The reference to the Warrens does not bode
well, but they may disappear from the film, partly because Smith might otherwise
find himself involved in litigation with Lorraine, and partly because it would
be hard to place them at the rectory when they visited Borley decades after its
destruction, crossed timelines notwithstanding.
Whatever form it takes, it is doubtful Ashley Thorpe will be losing
sleep over the competition, and to be fair I suspect Smith couldn’t care less.

Monday, 20 November 2017

Dr Rory Finin, director of Cambridge
Ukrainian Studies, a centre in the Department of Slavonic Studies at the
University of Cambridge, organised an interestingly diverse programme for the
tenth Cambridge Festival of Ukrainian Film on 17-18 November.The venue was once again the Winstanley
lecture theatre at Trinity College where the audience was treated to films old
and new.

As Dr Finin said, Friday’s two films
were intended, in their different ways, to reflect on the hundredth anniversary
of the ‘Russian Revolution’, which he pointed out was not solely Russian nor a
single event. The upheaval in Ukraine
added a desire for independence to a mix containing a range of views across the
spectrum about what type of political form should emerge from the chaos,
creating a complex, shifting situation.

The evening kicked off with the first of
two films in the festival directed by Svitlana Shymko: The
Fall of Lenin (2017), a short film dealing with the destruction of Lenin
monuments across most of Ukraine – the occupied territories being of course a
notable exception. Shymko made The Medic Leaves Last (2014), shown in
the festival two years ago.The
Fall of Lenin was made with financial support from Docudays UA, a
distributor specialising in Ukrainian documentaries, the Guardian newspaper and
the British Council.

Surprisingly, it opens with a group of
serious-looking middle-aged individuals in a library with pictures of Lenin and
Marx behind them holding a séance to contact the spirit of Lenin. They actually do allegedly get through to
Vladimir Ilyich (the spectre of communism?), who must have been surprised to
find that there is an afterlife, something a reading of Engels’ ‘Natural Science
and the Spirit World’ would have suggested to him was most unlikely. Possessing more of a sense of humour than one
suspects he displayed when alive, he claims to have been an angel in life,
though not a good one. When asked, his
prognosis for the future of Ukraine is not positive. The Ouija session gives way to documentary
footage of the erection of various Lenin statues in front of restrained crowds,
and a montage of destruction of such statues, of varying degrees of aesthetic
merit and often already badly defaced, in front of, and sometimes by, jubilant
ones.

Particularly striking is a deposed Lenin
hanging humiliatingly upside down, perhaps evoking in some thoughts of
Mussolini and Clara Petacci hanging from a girder in Milan. Another with ropes around its neck invites
comparisons with Lenin’s comment about Arthur Henderson in Left-Wing Communism: An Infantile Disorder. There is also footage of the destruction of
religious symbols by the Bolsheviks, making a link between their iconoclasm and
the Ukrainians ridding their country in turn of ‘religious’ symbols in the form
of the statues. Scenes in a foundry show
bronze being melted down, a shot lingering on Lenin’s face slowly dissolving. The result is a bell, and when it is tested
it rings beautifully. The message could
not be clearer.

In the final section a hand holds up old
postcards of the monuments over the locations, and then takes away the cards to
show what replaced them. The variety of
statuary, focusing on Ukrainian history or substituting a fountain, is a
contrast to the Lenin monoculture of Soviet times. What is missing from the film though is a
sense of the range of opinions the mass removals must have generated: euphoria
certainly for many, but surely regret for others. The enthusiastic crowd is not representative
of the people. Is there now perhaps an
element of ‘buyer’s remorse’ for some who feel the destruction was carried out
too quickly, and an important aspect of the country's cultural heritage (not to
mention its secular values) lost? It’s a
subject with profound implications for national identity, one that cannot be
done justice to in 11 minutes – but then in its way, despite its brevity The Fall of Lenin’s richness does
generate much to think about.

Arsenal (1929),
directed by Alexander Dovzhenko is a different, sprawling, beast entirely, and
Rory spent much of his introduction, as well as most of the festival programme,
providing the background to this remarkable film. I had last seen it at the 2003 Cambridge Film
Festival, at the Arts Picturehouse, where there had been a Dovzhenko strand,
and my verdict then had been that ‘Arsenal
is the product of a filmmaker not in charge of his material’. I had in mind the difficulty in discerning
the narrative and with a visual style that was ‘bolted on, influenced by
Eisenstein and Vertov [Arsenal was
released the same year as Man with a
Movie Camera], rather than an organic expression of the story’, and
considered it was ‘trying to cram in too much’.

It was a naive view for which I
apologise belatedly to Dovzhenko. A
second viewing shows he was fully in charge of his material. The film is a suitably monumental treatment
of a vast subject, and the programme correctly recommends treating it as a poem
in three parts: elegy, ode and epic, noting in support of this approach that
Dovzhenko was the ‘progenitor’ of Ukrainian poetic cinema. At this remove, temporal and geographic, the
episodic structure is hard to read for those more used to flowing narrative
continuity, hence the need now for signposts, but the artistry is assured.

That is not to say Arsenal is sui generis. There is a use of types, characters who
represent social groupings, which we are familiar with from Eisenstein. They often verge on, or crash into, caricature,
for example the fat gap-toothed German soldier laughing hysterically under the
influence of gas. The only individual
with a rounded character, and who stands in for Dovzhenko himself, is battered
Tymish, late of the imperial Russian army, who is trying to make sense of the
currents sweeping across his native Ukraine.
The crash of the train on which he is travelling – the engineer left
behind and the passengers clueless how to operate it – symbolises the
state. Climbing from the wreckage, back
in Kiev Tymish has to navigate the tensions between Bolshevism and Ukrainian
nationalism. The ambiguities in the film
echo Dovzhenko’s own as a nationalist whose country is as much dominated by
Russia as it was in Tsarist times.

How to break the tension between nationalism
and socialism firmly controlled from Moscow?
This is where I think I had my biggest problem when I first saw the
film. At the end, Tymish, who has
identified with the Bolsheviks, is confronted by nationalist soldiers. Proclaiming himself a Ukrainian worker,
thereby eliding the gap between the two identities, he urges his attackers to
shoot, and tears open his shirt in an act of defiant martyrdom. They fire, but he is impervious to
bullets. The 2017 programme argues of
this scene: ‘By the end of Arsenal,
Tymish rejects the zero-sum game placing his national identity and social/class
identity at odds with one another’, which is spot on: in a sense, by his heroic
act Tymish has transcended the difference and can hold both identities
simultaneously. That struck me as a
cop-out when I first saw the film: to the Bolsheviks here is a comrade who
cannot be killed by nationalists, but represents the inevitability of the
revolution; to the nationalists he is a Ukrainian, who will prevail whatever
may transpire.

In retrospect it feels like having your
cake and eating it, but perhaps a position one could be more confident of in
1929 than in the following decade as the Stalinist grip tightened; even so, it
feels as if Dovzhenko is sailing close to the wind. After the screening I asked Rory about its
reception in Moscow, thinking about the political situation and possible
disfavour towards showing an alternative view of the standard narrative of the
Revolution, as indicated in Eisenstein’s October
a year earlier, and highlighting the failure of the Bolshevik Arsenal
uprising. However, Rory pointed out
that, despite the failure of the Bolsheviks in overthrowing the nationalist Rada, Arsenal ultimately indicates the failure of Ukrainian nationalism
(and the film’s reception in Ukraine itself was generally critical). One wonders what Dovzhenko would have made of
the politics of Euromaidan in his artistic practice.

Saurday’s films dealt with more
contemporary, and more intimate, themes.
After another welcome viewing of The
Fall of Lenin, we saw an earlier short by Svitlana Shymko, Here Together (2013). This looks at a mother and daughter living in
Portugal, where apparently there are a significant number of Ukrainians. The mother works as a domestic, but she
conducts a rather good church choir. Her
initial idea was to work in Portugal for a year, sending money home, before
returning to Ukraine, but she missed her daughter Olesya, who only visited for
holidays, and when Olesya decided to study in Portugal, she made the decision
to settle there despite feeling the pull of home. Her daughter is also talented musically,
playing the piano to concert standard.
The pair highlight the pros and cons of living abroad: it can bring
opportunities not available, or at least harder to find, in one’s home country,
but it can also mean only finding work below the level of one’s qualifications
and abilities. The mass migration of
workers entails loss of potential, both for the individuals and at a national
level in the home country.

The final film of the festival was Dixieland (2015), directed by Roman
Bondarchuk, and it was an absolute delight.
It focuses on a children’s jazz band in Kherson, about 280 miles south
of Kiev. The children begin playing at
an early age and are very accomplished.
The film follows them as they practice, in a very dilapidated building,
and perform in public. These are
children with talent and ambition, led by their mentor, Semen Nikolayevich
Ryvkin, a gruff elderly man who is devoted to the project and his charges, and
who in turn is clearly adored by them.
You sense that for some, music is a way out of a restricted life with
limited prospects, and one lad goes off to boarding school where he can study
music. Even for those less fortunate,
playing as a group builds confidence, and the children are shown to be outgoing
and well adjusted. Shots of kites in the
sky at the beach symbolise their aspirations.
Young Polina is the star of the show, playing sax and trombone, not
afraid to busk on tour and doing very well at it.

The result could have been saccharine,
but it is not all about the music, and there is sadness along with the joy. The children grow, they lose their
director. They play for him outside his
hospital room and he waves down to them.
Polina visits him in his room, and it is shocking to see how thin he has
become. After Ryvkin’s death a young man
steps in to carry on the work, and practice continues. When he talks about studying in Kiev the
young girls are clearly upset at the prospect of losing him. He points out that everything changes, and
this applies not least to the children themselves, who must inevitably leave
the group and forge their own direction.
In Dixieland Bondarchuk has
created a subtle film of great poignancy and humanity.

Thursday, 9 November 2017

Thinking recently about my most influential teacherreminded me of the best music act
I ever saw, which was while I was at the same school.This was Arthur Brown’s Kingdom Come
(strictly speaking ‘Kingdom Come with Arthur Brown’) at the Chalk Farm
Roundhouse, which thanks to a partial listing of Arthur Brown’s gigs I find happened
on 11 February 1973.The concert was a
benefit for Nicaragua, though whether this was to provide relief for the devastation
caused by the December 1972 earthquake, or to assist the Sandinistas’ fight
against the Somoza dictatorship, I don’t know – probably the former, but
possibly the latter, as there was a strong movement in this country at the time
protesting against the reactionary government in Nicaragua.

It was one of a number of gigs I attended at the
Roundhouse during the early- and mid-1970s.
These were on Sundays, from 2-10 pm, and each featured a number of
acts. So what made Arthur Brown’s set so
memorable? It was thanks to someone who
was generally referred to as Jesus. He
attended all these events and wandered round in the intervals wearing a Kaftan
and weirdly with what was essentially a mullet, handing out nuts to the
audience. He looked vaguely biblical,
and was clearly a good egg, hence the nickname.
It was also amusing to say ‘thank you Jesus’ when he handed you a
snack. During performances he would
often jump up on stage to dance, and as it was Jesus, and everybody knew who he
was, this was tolerated and bands took little notice. The general atmosphere at the Roundhouse was
very laid back.

On this occasion Brown was giving a sterling
performance when Jesus climbed up in his kaftan and began dancing at the edge
of the stage. Instead of ignoring him
though, Brown began dancing with him.
They were very close together, then Brown pulled Jesus’s kaftan off
him. That could have been awkward, but
mercifully Jesus was wearing underpants.
Brown got him down, face up, and was lying on top. Then Brown shouted (and this is what made the
day so memorable) ‘I’m going to fuck you, Jesus’, whereupon he simulated having
sex. This went on for probably only a
few seconds though it seems longer in memory because I was gobsmacked, then
Jesus got up, put his robe back on and the set continued. I’m sure this was not pre-planned, but Jesus
was relaxed about the whole thing.

Brown was on a roll because he refused to finish and
the band just kept playing. It is
possible artificial stimulants were involved.
After a massive overrun the management turned the electricity off,
whereupon Brown stood there defiantly shouting ‘give me power’, echoed by an
enthusiastic audience oblivious to the impact Brown was having on the day’s
schedule. Eventually he gave up and the
band exited the stage, leaving my sensitive teenage soul scarred by the sight
of a man pretending to rut another, underpant-clad, man. Astonishingly Arthur Brown, in his mid-70s,
is still performing; one of rock’s great survivors. Jesus’s fate is unknown.

Tuesday, 24 October 2017

Recently I received an alert from the Red Mole
website (subtitled ‘A modest contribution to the history of the Fourth
International in Britain’, which frankly is far too modest) headed ‘Fancy a pint, comrade?’The post reproduces a
crudely-printed ticket made for what it calls a ‘Karl Marx Booze Up’.It continues: ‘October 1968 – A competitive
pubcrawl to celebrate Karl’s 150th birthday – organised by South West London
Vietnam Ad-Hoc Committee and believed to be the brain-child of one Al
Richardson.’The epic pub crawl began at
Centre Point and took in a couple of dozen pubs before finishing in
Hampstead.The purpose was two-fold: to
celebrate the 150th anniversary of Marx’s birth, and to raise funds for the
South West London Vietnam Committee.

The idea, according to the ticket (no. 82), was to sink
an alcoholic drink in every pub on the route, all of which existed in Marx’s
time and were on the route Marx and his German émigré friends took on their own
pub crawls. The person to complete the
course and finish a pint the fastest in the final pub would receive a ‘unique
prize’. The ticket proclaims: ‘Victory
to the N.L.F.’, i.e. the National Liberation Front, or Vietcong. To enter cost ‘half a dollar( 2/6)’; five bob was often referred to as a dollar,
reflecting times with a more favourable exchange rate.

An update to the post says the mystery prize was the
brass door knocker from the house Lenin lived in in 1905, which Richardson
rescued from a skip while the house was being demolished. The winner was Peter O’Toole of the Irish
Workers’ Group (so presumably not the
Peter O’Toole). I wonder where the door
knocker is now. Sadly I would have been
too young to join them, but it must have been quite a sight. I suspect there was a lot of singing as they
made their increasingly wobbly way northwards.

Many people talk about that teacher who had a
profound effect on their education going beyond school and helping to shape
their lives. I think I can identify
two: Someone called Ron Barrett, who
taught me English at Battersea Grammar School, and the ‘one Al Richardson’,
instigator of that long-ago excuse to get pissed, who was my history teacher at
Forest Hill School, where he was known as Alec rather than Al. His Wikipedia page describes him as a
‘British Trotskyist historian and activist’, which he was, but he was as well a
professional Yorkshireman with an often blunt manner and an infectious
enthusiasm. He could also be very funny.

I had left Battersea Grammar (actually in Streatham)
at 15, tried something that didn’t work out, lost a term’s schooling, and
started at Forest Hill in January 1973 with two terms of the fifth form
left. I had been down to do a history O
level at my previous school but the syllabus was different and I wasn’t able to
carry on with the course. So for two
terms I sat in class with Alec’s prescribed reading, a straight diet of Isaac
Deutscher.

Clearly Deutscher had a huge significance for Alec
as it was reading the monumental three-volume biography of Trotsky – indeed a
magnificent achievement – which caused Alec to leave the CPGB and join the
Trotskyist Socialist Labour League, resign his lectureship at the University of
Exeter and become a teacher at Forest Hill.
There he left the SLL and joined the International Marxist Group, but by
the time I knew him he had resigned (not been expelled, as some reports have
it) from the IMG because he objected to its increasing post-1968 obsession with
student activism. Ironically in the
early 1980s it turned to Labour Party entryism, and Alec had always argued that
the Labour Party was the key expression of working class politics and should be
the focus of revolutionary activity. He
later joined and left the Revolutionary Communist League, then concentrated on
research and writing.

He did not strike me as much of a party man, which
may go some way to explaining why, doctrinal issues apart, he never stuck with
any of the groups he joined. There is
though no doubting his commitment; in May 1968 he hitch-hiked to Paris to
participate in the student protests, where he must have cut a distinctive figure. He became a historian of the movement,
interviewing Trotskyist veterans, and a prolific author and polemicist. His major achievement was the three books he
produced with Sam Bornstein: Two Steps Back:
Communists and the Wider Labour Movement, 1939-1945 (1982), Against the Stream: A History of the Trotskyist Movement
in Britain 1924-1938 (1986) and The War and the
International: A History of the British Trotskyist Movement 1937-1949 (1986). In 1988 he founded the magazine Revolutionary History.

I have very fond memories of him, such as joking in
class that it was appropriate for A J P Taylor’s Origins of the Second World War, published by Penguin, to have an
orange spine as it was essentially a work of fiction. He had studied ancient Greek and told the
story of visiting Greece and using it, to the bemusement of the locals. He stressed the modern Greeks were nothing
like the ancient ones, so I don’t think he was too impressed by those he came
across. He had had a first in theology
from Hull, but kept that quiet, and was of course sniffy about religion; I
first heard the phrase ‘four-wheeled Christians’ from him. He loved ancient Egypt, and told us it was
his favourite period in history. He was a
tad sexist, and did not seem impressed by women, I suspect because he
considered them lacking in sufficient class consciousness. Appreciations of him after his death drew
attention to his objection to sectional interests on the left, including
feminism, anything he thought would dilute the workers’ struggle.

Sixth formers taking history would be invited round
to the house where he rented a room from another teacher, and while we were
supposed to be preparing for A levels he would hold forth on a wide range of
subjects. He gave the impression that
teaching was a stop gap before he turned his attention to something more
interesting, even though he did it for decades.
He was in fact a dedicated and inspirational teacher. His Guardian obituary refers to him ‘earning
the respect of colleagues and the devotion of pupils’, which is spot on as far
as the latter were concerned.

He died in his sleep at the tragically young age of
61, but he was overweight when I knew him and never looked as if he took care
of himself. The coffin was draped in the
flag of the 4th International, and his memorial meeting as reported in the Weekly Worker appropriately concluded
with the singing of the Internationale. The last time I saw Alec was in 1976 or early
1977, at a political meeting in London, where I was with people from the
University of Kent. We bumped into each
other in the foyer and exchanged a few remarks, then I left to join my
friends. I’m sure many others will have
warm memories of him as teacher, historian and political activist. His influence on me was profound, and I
celebrate his memory as he celebrated the memory of Karl Marx that day in October 1968,
though in my case not by drinking in two dozen pubs!

Next year marks the 200th anniversary of Marx’s
birth, and the 50th anniversary of the famous pub crawl. It would be nice if someone were to recreate the
outing to commemorate both, but particularly Alec’s significant contributions
to the cause he served in his own idiosyncratic way.

Wednesday, 4 October 2017

Last
week I had the huge privilege of meeting various Pinder/Sanger relatives on a
pilgrimage to see family graves at West Norwood and Brockley cemeteries in
south London, including that of my great-great-grandparents, Samuel Lockhart (1825-1894)
and Hannah Lockhart, née Pinder (1826-1910).As a result of the meeting I became aware of the book A Ticket to the Circus: A Pictorial History
of the Incredible Ringlings, by Charles Philip Fox, published by Branhall
House, New York, in 1959.As the
subtitle suggests, this is a history of the Ringling Brothers’ Circus.It contains a couple of references to Sam and
Hannah’s son, and my great-grandfather, Henry James Lockhart, generally known
as Harry, who had worked for the Ringlings.On p. 145 we learn that Harry was a believer in phrenologising
elephants:

‘Professor
Lockhart, an Englishman who had a trained elephant act on the show in the
1890's wrote:- “Elephants are selected for training when young. The bumps on their heads are taken into
consideration, for the phrenology of the elephant head is a sure index to
character. A flat, low narrow head belongs to a vicious low-bred dangerous
elephant. On the other hand, well rounded bumps over the eyes, a high forehead,
and straight well-set eyes indicate intelligence and docility. Educating an
elephant is like educating a child. You must begin training in childhood if you
want them to be perfect at maturity. Patience, perseverance, and pluck are
needed to train elephants.”’

Harry
had been characterised as a great joker by a journalist on the El Paso Herald,
so the suspicion naturally arises that he was having a bit of fun by espousing
the application of phrenology to elephants, though they certainly have enough
bumps to read. Unfortunately no source
for the quotation is given, so we don’t know where or when he wrote it. The reference to patience, perseverance and pluck
though was probably said in all sincerity because Harry would have been conscious
of the risks involved in training elephants; his brother George was killed in
January 1904, crushed by an elephant at Walthamstow, a year before Harry’s own
death.

The
book also contains a rather wonderful photograph of Harry dwarfed by five
elephants standing on barrels, captioned ‘Prof. Lockhart, an Englishman, had a
great elephant act on the show in 1897.’
It’s not to everyone’s taste these days but it must have been a
remarkable spectacle.

Monday, 24 July 2017

Returning from a trip to Devon recently
we stopped off at the University of Exeter to visit the Bill Douglas Cinema
Museum (part of the Bill Douglas Centre for the History of Cinema and Popular
Culture, as a sign inside pronounced).Despite it being a Saturday in the holiday we were amazed that we were
the only visitors during the entire two hours we spent there.The research centre was shut on a weekend, so
no curators were around, but the museum itself is open seven days a week, other
than bank holidays and between Christmas and New Year.Admission is free.As it was a vacation weekend we were able to
park near the front door of the building in which the centre is situated, but I
got the impression parking can be a problem during term-time.

Based on the collection put together by filmmaker
Bill Douglas and his friend Peter Jewell over a thirty-year period, the museum
has on show a small selection, about 1,000, of the 75,000 objects held by the
university devoted to the moving image. They
include equipment, posters, photographs, books, magazines, toys, publicity ephemera
– in fact anything connected with going to the pictures. As well as covering the history of cinema,
there is a great deal on pre-cinema, including optical toys, shadow puppets and
magic lanterns. It’s not all British and
American; there is an international, or at least European, element.

Split into two main galleries, with
extra cases before you go in for temporary exhibitions, the smaller ground
floor room one enters first is devoted to cinema post-1910, and the much larger
downstairs room to pre- and early cinema.
Thus visitors will tend to look at the more modern material before the
older, rather than follow it in chronological order. That on pre- and early cinema is grouped into
peep shows, optical illusions, the magic lantern, panoramas, ‘the beginnings of
film’, and so on. Eadweard Muybridge has
a case to himself. Post-1910 cases cover
filmmakers, British cinema, cinemagoing, animation, Charlie Chaplin, stars,
Hollywood and blockbusters. One would
not expect much in the way of television, but the temporary exhibition, ‘Space,
Astronomy and the Moving Image’, included Dr Who and the Star Trek series.

In addition to the cases there were
objects on tables for visitors to try, such as replica praxinoscopes,
zoetropes, stereoscopes and cards, and flick books. Artefacts were well presented, within the
constraints imposed by limited space and the necessity for low lighting, though
often descriptions, particularly dates, were scanty. However, it was possible to borrow a copy of
the Bill Douglas Centre Museum Guide
(2010) from reception to learn more about the collection.

The Bill Douglas Cinema Museum opened in
1997 with the Douglas/Jewell donation, but there have been additions by others since
(including Derek Jarman’s producer James Mackay, whom I have had the pleasure
of interviewing), and we noticed something from the British Film Institute’s
old Museum of the Moving Image collection.
It is a shame the BFI has dispersed objects from MOMI, which closed in
1999, but this is a good place for them to reside, though Exeter’s restricted
space means they can only display a fraction of what could be seen at the BFI. I visited MOMI several times and, while I
loved it, I was always frustrated that the curators failed to rotate
exhibits. I wonder if the same might be
true of the Bill Douglas Museum. If so,
as it is much smaller, it will repay repeated visits less. Of course, all the items listed on the
museum’s website can be examined in the centre’s reading room.

While researchers will see the museum as
an adjunct to the research centre, it is a valuable destination for the general
public interested in this important part of our cultural heritage. Those concerned primarily with the cinema in
the south-west will find that the region is not prioritised (the South West
Film & Television Archive is based in Plymouth), rather it celebrates cinema,
its precursors and its culture, in the round.
Thanks to Douglas, Jewell and the other donors, and not least to the
University of Exeter, it is a tremendously enjoyable way to spend a couple of
hours.

Tuesday, 18 July 2017

If anyone harboured a doubt that
original spirit photographs are valuable objects, it would have been dispelled
by the sale on 11 July of an album of prints at Sotheby’s.The estimate was £2-3,000, and they went for
£10,000, plus buyer’s premium of 25%, making a grand total of £12,500.The lot was described as ‘Spirit
Photographs--Hudson, Frederick (and others) ALBUM
OF 29 PHOTOGRAPHS. [C.1872]’.

Contained in a scrapbook, of the same
vintage, were 29 albumen prints, 24 mounted on card, 2 unmounted and 3
cartes-de-visite, including one by Frederick Hudson, captioned and signed by
Georgiana Houghton on the reverse:
"...I was seated in the place where the figure appears, but my face
was in the opposite direction - I am invisible and the spirit is
apparent...", with a date of 4 April 1872.
In addition there were three press cuttings. The album was described as having ‘green
roan-backed cloth boards, upper cover stamped in gilt 'Scrap Book', spine worn
with loss, covers bowed, some wear.’

A note in the catalogue stated that ‘The
majority of the photographs are evidently the work of a single photographer and
are highly reminiscent of known photographs by F.M. Parkes.’ Parkes was working at the same time as Hudson
but is far less well known today.
Georgiana Houghton was a spirit medium, artist and
writer, and associate of Hudson’s.

A figure well over the estimate for
spirit photographs is by no means unprecedented. In 2013 an album of 27 photographs taken during
Thomas Glendenning Hamilton’s séances at his home in Winnipeg in the 1920s, and
copiously annotated, sold, with buyer’s premium, for the enormous sum of
US$93,750 (estimate $4-6,000) – the kind of number that makes museum curators swallow
nervously as they reassess the security of their collections.

Admittedly that was an unusually large
amount. The following year a series of
lots comprising photographs by Richard Boursnell and J. Evans Sterling, and
Craig and George Falconer, went for more realistic prices: $3,000 with premium
(estimate $2,500-$3,500) for five Boursnell and Sterling images, and the same
for eight Falconer brothers photographs (estimate $1,000-$1,500). Surprisingly ten cartes-de-visite taken by
Hudson and annotated by Houghton remained unsold (estimate $4-6,000).

The market for spirit photography is in
good health, and as the Hamilton sale indicates, post-Victorian images can
achieve high prices. Such sales are not
confined to high-end auctioneers like Sotheby’s either – single original images
occasionally appear on eBay among the junk, though they often struggle to sell
at the prices asked, perhaps because their authenticity (referring to the artefact
rather than the content) is less certain than it would be if sold through a
reputable auction house, with its access to experts.

One unfortunate by-product of these
prices, however, is that it is likely, when good quality material turns up, it
will go back to private collectors with deep pockets and not be available to
researchers. Such collections as those
of the Society for Psychical Research and (especially) the College of Psychic
Studies are rich sources for the serious study of spirit photography but these
institutions do not have the funds to compete for fresh acquisitions. Instead they rely on donations, and for the
owner who can realise a significant sum by selling, the chances are that the
auction house will be the preferred destination.

Monday, 3 July 2017

The theme of this week’s Cerys Matthews show (2
July) on BBC Radio 6 Music was rivers, to celebrate London Rivers Week. In the words of London Rivers Week’s website
it:

‘aims to inspire people
like you to take pride in our waterways, understand the challenges they face
and come together to create a healthy future for our rivers.’

I’m not sure about that ‘like you’, which sounds a
tad patronising, but the sentiments are sound.
Naturally Cerys played an enjoyable selection of tracks, but one I was
expecting which didn’t appear was Dirty
Water. Written by Ed Cobb and originally
performed by the Standells in 1965, they sang about Boston, Mass., USA,
referring to the ‘banks of the River Charles’ and including the line ‘Aw, Boston,
you’re my home’.

That wasn’t though the version I thought I might
hear. A pub rock band I used to see
regularly in the late 1970s/early 80s in London was the Inmates. A vague link was a school friend, Jeff Mead,
who organised these outings. He was friends with somebody called Mike Spenser (whose
sister Maxine by coincidence I worked with for a while). Spenser had had formed the Flying Tigers but
they had broken up, producing two bands – Spenser’s the Cannibals, with whom
Jeff played for a while on bass, and the Inmates.

The Inmates covered Dirty Water and did very well with it, substituting the banks of
the River Thames for the Charles, and London for Boston. A generally punchier version than the
Standells’, with singer Bill Hurley channelling Mick Jagger, it was a huge
crowd-pleaser guaranteed to get everybody dancing. The song was included on the LP First Offence and issued as a single.

Surprisingly, it was the Standells’ Dirty Water which was used on the
soundtrack to the film Fever Pitch
(2005), a missed trick. The Inmates’ though
appeared in the 1999 film EDtv.

One unfortunate line which may account for its
failure to appear on Cerys’s show is ‘Those frustrated women have to be in by
12 o’clock’. This was apparently a
reference to the curfew imposed on female students in 1960s Boston but frankly
didn’t make much sense in late 1970s London, and sounds sexist now.

Yet overall there is a difference in tone between
the Standells’ and the Inmates’ approaches.
Where the former feels sneering and ironic (they didn’t even live in
Boston), the latter has always struck me as sincere; a love letter to a London
that, despite undoubtedly grotty aspects, still evident beneath its creeping
homogenisation, is a city worth celebrating and worthy to be called home.

Thankfully the Thames is a lot cleaner than it used
to be, but the Inmates’ Dirty Water feels
relevant all the same. I’ve not lived in
the city for a quarter of a century, but the river is in the DNA of all
Londoners, wherever they find themselves, and Dirty Water is its appropriately grungy anthem. It would have been wonderful if Cerys had
found time to play it in celebration of London Rivers Week. Perhaps she will next year.

‘Gloria’

My friend Dr Christopher Laursen at one
time had a blog, Sound Addictions, on
which he asked people to nominate a favourite track and briefly say something
about why it was important to them. My
choice was Patti Smith’s version of ‘Gloria’, and the following appeared on his
blog on 27 January 2013, linked to a video of Smith performing the song live.

‘Gloria’

Amazingly, 2013 marks the fiftieth
anniversary of Van Morrison’s composition of ‘Gloria’. It has happy associations for me: I used to
have a school friend who played in a band called the Cannibals, and saw them many
times in pubs around London. They always
finished their set with ‘Gloria’.

However, my favourite version has to be
Patti Smith’s. I bought Horses, which kicks off with her
idiosyncratic ‘Gloria’, not long after its release in 1975, and it never fails
to lift my spirits.

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

Belgian photographer Jan Kempenaers has
a new exhibition at the Breese Little Gallery in London which shows the results
of his forays across Europe to record a number of large structures, many of
them in a state of decay.My eye was
particularly caught by his photograph of the enormous arch at Brest in Belarus
(certainly not decaying) as I have walked through it myself.The offset star-shaped entrance to the Brest
fortress displays an aesthetic playfulness often missing in Soviet
architecture.

Playfulness, however, is not Kempenaers’
concern: he presents these monolithic structures in black and white,
emphasising their hardness and dominance, but also their drabness, ossified and
out of time. The results commemorate his
subjects’ power and overwhelming presence in the landscape, with an emphasis on
their’ graphic qualities.

He had previously compiled a series in
colour, Spomenik – also shown at the
Breese Little Gallery – which focused on Tito-era Second World War memorials
across the former Yugoslav territories, and the colour gives them a softness
his latest project lacks. As in his
earlier project he has photographed the structures without people, emphasising
their sense of permanence by excluding specifics that would date them, and
foregrounding their sculptural qualities.

Information on the subjects is
deliberately kept to a minimum as well, ripping them from their context. For fans of surviving traces of (mostly)
vanished regimes – Belarusian president
Alexander Lukashenko doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave office –
the exhibition is well worth a visit, but this is by no means a documentary approach
and some viewers may find it frustrating not to have captions to support the
images.

Down the road at the Calvert 22
Foundation, British photographer Christopher Nunn’s Holy Water work-in-progress consists of recent photographs taken in
eastern Ukraine, showing as part of the Independent Photography Festival. He has captured people being themselves in
what must be difficult circumstances; just how difficult can be judged by Nunn
himself, who earlier this year ended up in hospital with eye damage when he was
caught in shelling by separatists.

In a world dealing with so many problems
it is easy to forget the Russian efforts to destabilise Ukraine, but Nunn show
the determination of the residents near the front line to carry on as best they
can. Looking at the photographs, one
wouldn’t know that there was a conflict raging that has now claimed tens of
thousands of lives. Eschewing the
fighting itself, he captures people relaxing, drinking, being
affectionate. Pet dogs feature
prominently. As a counterbalance to the
people there are shots of domestic interiors.
The emphasis across the exhibition is on the everyday.

The war is not totally absent, as
indicated by a photograph of a field with fragile wooden crosses marking graves,
but the focus is firmly on ordinary activities.
Religious iconography is prominent: a golden statue of the Blessed
Virgin Mary; an elaborate tattoo on a man’s back of the Holy Family, and youths
stripped to the waist by a lake sporting Orthodox crosses; but at present its
residents must surely feel this is a land that God has forsaken.

While the conflict lasts, life will
become ever harder and more dangerous for the local population, and Nunn’s
photographs reinforce the message that the world cannot look away from what is
happening. He has put his own life on
the line to document this troubled region, and he deserves our utmost respect
and attention.

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Eagle-eyed followers of the Society for Psychical
Research’s Facebook page and Twitter feed will have spotted that the logo
adorning the top of each has changed, though not by much.The previously shaded psi symbol is now
entirely black and sporting a broader foot, the typeface used for the name is slightly
thinner and upper case, and the ‘SPR’ abbreviation at the bottom of the ring has been replaced
by Est. 1882, an improvement as the initials are redundant and the date
reinforces the longevity of the Society. These are fairly cosmetic changes, but it was decided
the logo needed to be refreshed as the old version was looking dated.The replacement will be rolled out on the
website and print publications in due course.

The old one had been in use since 1990, when I
co-designed it with Bernard Carr. The
then SPR Publicity Committee, which Bernard chaired, held a competition among
the membership to choose a logo. This was
announced in the SPR Newsletter, No.
30, July 1989, p. 20.* The judging
process was protracted, and the winner was not announced until the October 1990
issue, No. 35, p. 29. Bernard introduced
the design by saying the Committee had received nearly 40 entries (some half-a-dozen
of which must have been mine) and that ten had been selected as a shortlist for
a Council decision. One of these was my
double ring with lettering, to which Bernard had added the psi symbol.

Once a single design had been selected, on which
there was ‘surprising agreement’ as Bernard put it, a number of variants were
drawn up, with the chosen version looking similar but not identical to the one that
has been in use for many years – the original had sans serif lettering of slightly different dimensions, and the shading
was not quite the same. Bernard
continued by saying, somewhat disparagingly, ‘It is obviously very traditional –
and not as modern or as imaginative as some of the other suggestions – but its
conservatism is perhaps a fair reflection of the nature of the society and it
does at least convey the essential message!’

The old SPR logo

He concluded: ‘The closest approximation to the
final logo was suggested by Tom Ruffles.
Rather embarrassingly, he is also on the Publicity Committee, which
adjudicated the competition. We
therefore decided to award the prize (a book token) to Maurice Grosse, who
besides making several suggestions of his own, also helped by drawing up proper
versions of the short-listed entries.’

On the whole the logo has served the Society well as
part of its image, and it seems popular; so much that the Dutch SPR use it on
their Twitter feed as well. Whether the
new version will generate the same degree of affection, or adoption by other
organisations, remains to be seen. The
new psi symbol could be considered as rather heavy, even stodgy, whereas the
old ‘3D’ one had a lightness chiming with the image of psychical research, but shading
does seem dated and the new version will soon become familiar. For all its ‘conservatism’ I’m pleased that what
is essentially the same logo has been in use for over a quarter of a century,
with a few more years in front of it, which in this fast-moving image-conscious
world is no mean feat.

*The old Newsletter,
which preceded first The Psi Researcher
and then the Paranormal Review, ran
from February 1981 to January 1991, edited for nearly all that period by Dr
Susan Blackmore. For some reason while
the later two publications are in the Lexscien
online library of SPR publications, the SPRNewsletter isn’t.

Tuesday, 11 April 2017

April
1917 was a busy month in the prosecution of the First World War, with the
Battles of Arras and Vimy Ridge in full swing, the declaration of war by the
United States on Germany on the 6th, not to mention the death of
writer Edward Thomas on the 9th.Not as
significant as the military and diplomatic endeavours, but of huge significance
personally, 11 April 2017 marks the centenary of the death of my paternal
grandfather, George Harry Ruffels (sic).My father was not quite four months old, and he became an orphan when
his mother Lucy died in the influenza pandemic towards the end of 1918, leaving
him to be brought up by relatives.

George
was born at Palgrave, a village close to Diss just inside the Suffolk border; that
much is certain. When he was born is
less clear. I have not been able to find
a firm date of birth for him and there is a possibility the birth was not
registered. His parents’ census returns indicate
he was born in 1867, or possibly the previous year, but he may have been born
in about November 1865 according to information he supplied to the army. He was baptised on 21 April 1867, but it could
have taken place well after he was born, and his parents may have made an effort
to obfuscate his true age in census records in order to conceal his
illegitimacy – Thomas Ruffels and Elizabeth Firman married only in the first
quarter of 1867.

In
the 1871 Census the family is listed as living at Holly Cottage, Palgrave,
though by the 1881 one they had moved to 40, St Andrews Street, Bury St Edmunds,
and George’s occupation is given as errand boy.
His father’s census returns for 1871 and 1881 states George’s age as 4
and 14 respectively, and in the 1911 Census George gives his age as 44, putting
his year of birth as 1866 or ‘67.

In
1881 or 1882 he enlisted for 12 years’ service in the First Battalion, The
Suffolk Regiment. During 1888-90 he was
a private serving in India, according to the Campaign Medal and Award Rolls. By 1893 he was back in England because on 12
August of that year he married Lucy Ann Gibson and was living at The Camp,
Colchester. According to the marriage
certificate his occupation was lance corporal (bandsman), Suffolk
Regiment. He gave his age as 26, which
again chimes with an 1867 date, while Lucy’s was 19.

At
some point they moved to Liverpool, though why is unclear. There is a Findmypast record of soldiers who died
in the Great War which says of him that he was ‘Formerly 2/613, King's Liverpool
Regt.’, so he may have transferred regiments prior to discharge; I have not
seen any primary documentation for this.
He left the army sometime in late 1893 or 1894, after he had completed
his 12 years, and became a goods porter on the Lancashire & Yorkshire
Railway, living in Toxteth Park. This
doesn’t seem to have worked out because by 1899 he was working as a dock
labourer.

His
movements and changes of occupation can be tracked by examining the birth
certificates of his and Lucy’s children.
The couple had 12 over a 21-year period, only 3 of whom made it to
adulthood, while the rest had mostly appallingly short lives, as can be gauged
by this table. Their early deaths cast a
grim light on condition in working class households of the period:

13
October 1895 Birth of Ellen
Elizabeth (1st child)

22
March 1897 Birth of Sarah Ann (2nd child, died 1990)

13
February 1899 Birth of Albert
Edward (3rd child)

1st
quarter 1900 Death of Albert
Edward (aged c. 1 year)

30
September 1901 Birth of Lucy Pretoria (4th child)

1st
quarter 1903 Death of Lucy
Pretoria (aged c. 16 months)

1
January 1904 Birth of Laura
Marion (5th child)

20th
October 1905 Birth of James Harry (6th child)

2nd
quarter 1906 Death of James Harry (aged c. 6 months)

16
February 1907 Birth of Lucy Ann (7th child)

3rd
quarter 1907 Death of Lucy Ann (aged c. 6 months)

3rd
quarter 1908 Death of Ellen
Elizabeth (aged 12)

18
December 1908 Birth of John William (8th child)

1st
quarter 1909 Death of John
William (aged c. 2 months)

8
July 1910 Birth of Alice
Louise (9th child)

2nd
quarter 1911 Death of Alice
Louise (aged c. 9 months)

2
January 1912 Birth of Annie Ellen (10th child)

4th
quarter 1912 Death of Annie
Ellen (aged .c 9 months)

22
February 1914 Birth of George
Edward (11th child, died 1973)

15
December 1916 Birth of John Harry (12th child, died 1995)

September
1918 Death of Laura Marion (aged 14)

This
is a shocking mortality rate by any standard.
Their mother Lucy only had four children alive and at home between 1905
and 1908, and never more than that at any one time. In 1913 she only had one, Laura (Sarah had
disappeared from the household by the 1911 Census).

The
birth of Lucy Pretoria in September 1901 is noteworthy because of her middle
name. The city of Pretoria had been
captured by the British in June 1900 during the Second Boer War, and there is a
celebratory aspect to the name, one that enjoyed a vogue at the time. More to the point, George had re-enlisted in
the 8th Royal Reserve Battalion on 17 March 1900 for a year’s service, and Lucy
was born in Colchester, with Georges’ occupation as musician on her birth
certificate. George’s attestation form still exists, and here he gives his age
as 34 and 4 months, which would make his birth date November 1865. I think this is a possibility for his birth,
rather than early 1867, as he would have provided this information himself,
assuming he a) actually knew the date and b) was telling the truth. He gives his place of birth as Palgrave, near
Diss, and again states his ‘trade or calling’ as musician. He does not appear to be in the 1901 Census,
taken on 31 March, presumably because he was still abroad, though oddly neither
do Lucy and the children, Ellen and Sarah, as far as I can tell. The stay in Colchester was short-lived
because by the time Lucy Pretoria died in 1903 the family was back in Liverpool,
living in Kirkdale, and he was again working as a dock labourer.

It
is possible the age on his 1900 attestation form and his RDC application is
wrong and the 1867 date is correct. We
essentially have his word against his parents’, but the apparent lack of a
birth record is suspicious. One piece of
evidence for the earlier date is that when he joined the army in 1881-2 he
would have been only 14 or 15 according to his parents’ date. However, he may have lied about his age to
join up, adding a year or so enhance his chances if he had only been 14. Without a birth certificate this seems an
issue that will not be easy to resolve.

As
well as a certain disdain for consistency in birth dates, there was also
carelessness over the spelling of names.
Between the birth of Annie on 2 January 1912 and young George on 22
February 1914 the name changed from ‘Ruffels’ to ‘Ruffles’, which was how he
and the last baby, John, were registered, though George Snr retained the
original spelling in his own name, as did Lucy; at some point in her long life
Sarah’s name was changed to Ruffles even though that spelling is not on her
birth certificate. There are other
inaccuracies in the records: When George
registered Lucy Ann in 1907 he was put down as simply ‘Harry Ruffels’, while
the 1911 Census form gives his middle name as Henry. George was not alone in having a relaxed view
about such matters: in the 1871 Census his father is recorded as Thomas
Ruffells.

But
George was not the first to change the children’s names from Ruffels to
Ruffles. His younger brother Thomas
joined the army, at the age of 15, in 1893.
His attestation form is also existent, and he signed up as Ruffles. Initially in the Suffolk Regiment, he
transferred to the South Wales Borderers.
Despite enlisting for 12 years, he was only discharged in December
1918. His entry in a 1919 list of
soldiers entitled to the War badge still has him listed as Ruffles (it notes
overseas service in South Africa, so he may have been there at the same time as
George). One gains the distinct
impression that these were people not too bothered by bureaucratic
niceties. Thomas, it may be added, lived
through yet another world war, dying in 1946.

At
the time of his son George’s birth in February 1914, George was still working
as a dock labourer, but at some point after its formation in March 1916 he
joined the 123rd Company, Royal Defence Corps, with the rank of
corporal, Regimental no. 37536. He was
serving in that capacity at the time of his death in an auxiliary hospital, Shornells,
at Bostall Heath, Kent, on 11 April, 1917.
He died of pneumonia and syncope, by which was presumably meant he had a
heart attack. The age of 52 on his death
certificate is in line with a year of birth of 1865, and this is probably also
the date given when he joined the RDC.
(Actually the age on the death certificate is still wrong if he was born
in November 1865, as in April 1917 he would have been 51, but it is a
reasonable error if the person recording the information only looked at the
years 1865-1917.) The information he
gave at the time of his third enlistment in the forces may support a year of
birth of 1865, or it may be wrong but given to maintain consistency with her
previous military records. He is buried
in a grave, plot F.601, in Woolwich cemetery with 13 other service personnel. Remarkably, the register recording his
effects at death has been preserved. Referring
to Shornells as Erith Hospital, the sum of £17/16/10 was authorised to be paid
to his widow Lucy.

My
father wasn’t told much about George, who was considered a black sheep with a
reputation for having engaged in immoral behaviour in India. There is certainly something unpleasant in
fathering so many children even when it was apparent their life expectancy was
low. As a mark of this reticence about
George, Dad knew nothing of all the children who died young – as far as he was
aware there had only been three children, Sarah, George and himself, and he was
astonished when I did some family research in the late 1980s and presented him
with a set of birth certificates. He had
had no idea his mother had had nine other children, and that he wasn’t even the
first child in the family to be christened John. His elder sister Sarah had been
institutionalised at an early age, and while she had made vague references over
the years to other siblings, he had not taken them seriously. Uncle George presumably knew as little as my
father, and they were not particularly close; George stayed in Liverpool while my
father made a new life in London as soon as he could. It is surprising, considering the fractured
nature of the family history, that a photograph of my grandfather in uniform
has survived.

The
centenaries of my parents’ births in 2016, and the centenary of my
grandfather’s death this year, have given me a renewed interest in my family
history. I appreciate that this sort of
thing is of little interest to others, on a level with hearing about someone’s
dreams, but I think it worth recording my findings, and I shall add to them
should more information come to light.
If anybody can establish the precise date of my grandfather’s birth, I
shall be grateful. As well as thinking
about my grandfather on the centenary of his death, my thoughts are with the
many aunts and uncles I had who never made it to adulthood.

Overview

Over the last few years I have written a large number of pieces, mainly reviews on aspects of the paranormal and of visual culture, but many are no longer available. This blog format is a convenient way of putting my bibliography online and adding some of the old items, plus the occasional new one.

A Note on Titles of Publications

The British and Irish Skeptic is now The Skeptic

The Newsletter of the Society for Psychical Research became The Psi Researcher and then The Paranormal Review

Many of the later items are available online, notably those written for nthposition and the SPR website. Those for The Psi Researcher, Paranormal Review and SPR Journal are available in the SPR's online library; see http://www.spr.ac.uk/ for details.